Shampoo
by Cheryl Dyson
Summary: Snape gets a mysterious Christmas gift with unexpected consequences... OOC warnings: Snape as sex god, Hermione as kissing critic, McGonagall as rock band roadie... Was I insane when I wrote this?
1. Chapter 1

Shampoo

**Chapter One – Snape's Christmas Gift**

Christmas. Bah. Humbug! To paraphrase an old Squib writer. Severus Snape sat in front of his fire on Christmas morning and sipped from a cup of hot Earl Grey. He was aware that the few students who had stayed on over the holidays would be gleefully ripping open presents and stuffing their greedy little faces with sweets. Later they would romp about in the Great Hall making far more noise than their numbers would warrant. They would play with their new toys and gizmos and show off their new jumpers and probably sing happy songs all day long… Snape shuddered. He fully intended to remain in seclusion in his quarters as long as humanly possible, which would be until about supper time when Dumbledore would show up at his door and drag him up to face the torture of unrestrained merriment. He sighed.

He glanced over at the tiny haphazard pile of gifts he had piled in a corner over the past week whenever one of his co-workers had thrust one upon him, not seeming to care that Snape never returned the favor. He couldn't remember purchasing a gift for anyone at all in the past decade or more.

He might as well get the horror over with so he could paste a smile on his face later and insincerely thank the giver for the wretched gift. The largest one was from Dumbledore, of course. Snape steeled himself and opened it. He gasped in cynical not-surprise. New robes! New robes Snape would not wear on pain of death. This year they were mint green. Snape threw them aside in annoyance. No matter how many times he had told the bloody Headmaster that he wore only BLACK, Dumbledore still insisted on giving him happy, colorful robes for Christmas. Snape would toss them into the wardrobe next to the forest green ones with silver pinstripes from last year. And the silver ones with black and green trim from the year before. And the seafoam green ones from the year prior. Snape had buried those farthest back in the closet in an attempt to forget he had ever seen them.

The next package was from McGonagall. It was the expected shaving kit. The stupid woman got him one every single year. As if he didn't shave daily with his WAND. He tossed the shaving kit directly into the trash. Sprout had given him a selection of Slytherin ties, which actually wasn't a bad gift. He rather liked the one with the little intertwined snakes. He set that gift aside as remotely useful.

Hermione Granger had given him a box of sweets. Snape pitched that into the fire without a glance. Nasty little Gryffindor suck-up. He knew she hated him. How dared she insult his intelligence by giving him a gift so blatantly toadying?

A tall package wrapped in shiny silver paper had no tag. Fabulous. An anonymous gift. It would most likely blow up the instant he opened it. Probably from Harry Potter or the Weasley twins. He peeled back a corner of the paper experimentally. It seemed to be a large whitish bottle.

He yanked off the rest of the paper. It _was_ a large whitish bottle. He tapped it. What an odd substance. Not glass or copper or clay. It had a green leaf on the front and an odd word scrawled down the side of the bottle. _Shampoo_, he read. What the bloody hell is _shampoo_? A potion ingredient? He turned the bottle over and read the back:

_Bodifying_ _shampoo with an energizing citrus complex, gently cleanses and clears away dulling residue to awaken hair's vitality, body and shine. Reinvigorates fine, limp or lifeless hair with voluminous body and radiant shine._ Blah blah blah.

Snape glared at the bottle. Hair? Was someone trying to tell him something? Did some nasty person mean to suggest that his own hair was less than… radiant? That perhaps his hair was limp and lifeless? He snarled. He certainly hoped it was limp and lifeless. It was _hair_. What was the opposite of limp and lifeless? Energetic and lively? He did not want his hair to scamper about on his head like Medusa's.

The very thought. He tossed the bottle of shampoo aside and moved on to the next humdrum gift.

Shortly before supper, Snape lay in his bath and scrubbed with a loofah. His hair might be limp and lifeless, but he took excellent care to maintain a sparkling clean body, mainly due to a terrifying case of body lice he'd contracted as a child. He took scalding daily baths. Sometimes twice daily. However, all forms of lice had steadfastly stayed away from his greasy mound of hair, so he'd never really bothered with it except to give it an occasional rub with a bar of soap and a quick rinse.

He kept thinking about the stupid bottle of shampoo. Voluminous body and radiant shine. What was that, exactly? He reached out and took up the nearby bottle. He cracked open the cap, half-expecting billows of poisonous smoke to erupt or some sort of creature to spring out and rend him.

Neither of those happened, but a pleasant scent wafted to his nose. Hmmm, it smelled vaguely… tropical. He looked at the back of the bottle again.

_Apply to wet hair, work into lather. Rinse and repeat._

He poured a bit of the stuff into his hand. It would probably cause all of his hair to fall out. Which would give him a grand excuse to stay secluded in his rooms for the rest of the bloody holiday. He plopped the substance on top of his damp hair and massaged it in vigorously. As instructed, he rinsed and repeated. His head felt a bit tingly, but other than that, no change. His hair was still intact and it appeared to be his natural color.

He exited the tub and toweled off. After shrugging into his standard black robes, he sat at his dressing table and looked in the mirror. His hair still looked plenty stringy. He snatched up the comb on his table and blew off the thick coating of dust. He began to drag the long-unused comb through his locks and was surprised at how easily it untangled. Once it began to dry, his hair began to act strangely. The ends started to curl. The top portion began to fluff up. It gleamed like a raven's wing in the light from his lamps. Snape turned his head this way and that and was shocked when each slight movement made his hair bounce and swing fetchingly. Voluminous body and radiant shine, indeed!

"Bloody hell, I'm better looking than Sirius Black!" he crowed to himself. Who knew something as simple as _shampoo_ could wreak such a change? A knock on the door caused him to freeze. He couldn't go out in public looking like this! The person staring back at him from the mirror was not Severus Snape! This was more like Gilderoy Lockhart's darker, sexier cousin.

"Severus, it is time you joined us for Christmas supper," Dumbledore's voice called through the door. Snape looked around in panic. Perhaps he could throw some rancid grease in his hair, but where to get some? He was a pathetically clean person, but for his hair. He didn't have so much as an old chicken bone. Dumbledore was impatient.

"Severus, don't make me blast the door in and fetch you like last year."

"Fine!" Snape yelled. He stalked to the door and threw it open. Dumbledore gaped at him for a long moment.

"Severus?" he asked uncertainly.

"Who else would it be?" Snape snarled. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Oh yes, that's you all right. Come along. I thought you took some Polyjuice Potion for a moment. You look like someone they had on the cover of Witch Weekly last Tuesday, except that he wore no shirt and some ridiculously tight leather pants…"

Dumbledore babbled on, but led the way to the Great Hall.

Snape stalked behind him. His black hair bounced upon his shoulders as if excited to be released from the confines of years of oily buildup.

They reached the Great Hall and were halfway down the aisle that led to the teachers' table when Snape became aware of silence descending in his wake. He sat down in his usual spot and glared at the faces that gaped at him.

"Happy Christmas, everyone! Let's eat!" Dumbledore said merrily.

Food appeared on the tables and Snape ignored the whispers of students as he dug into his ham and potatoes. He soon became aware that a small crowd had gathered on either side of him. He looked up at McGonagall, who stood shockingly close to him with a bottle of wine clutched in her hand.

"Wine, Severus?" she asked in a strange, throaty voice. He couldn't recall ever having been this close to her before. Frankly, he wasn't enjoying the experience.

"Personal space, Minerva," he said politely. She was suddenly jolted out of the way by Professor Grubbly-Plank, who crowded his elbow anew.

"Pipe, Severus?" she asked and offered him a partially chewed pipe carved from some sort of horn. He recoiled.

"I don't smoke and have no intention of starting."

His right elbow was now jostled. He turned to see Madame Hooch crouched beside his chair.

"Sev, you're looking… well… _good_," she said in the same throaty voice McGonagall had used. "Want to come to my chambers after supper for a little nightcap? I've got some excellent brandy—"

"Hussy!" McGonagall snarled. Though displaced, she apparently hadn't gone far. "Go back to your brooms!"

"I'd like to see _your_ broom, Severus," Hooch crooned. "How about it?"

He hadn't the foggiest notion what she was prattling on about. And what the hell were all these women doing clustered about him? Hooch hadn't spared him six words in the past eight years, except when she had a complaint about the behavior of one of his Slytherins in her flying class.

Madame Pomfrey suddenly yanked Madame Hooch away from Snape by grabbing a handful of her short hair. Hooch yelped.

"Severus, you're looking a trifle flushed," Pomfrey said as she sidled into the spot vacated by Hooch. "I've come to give you a posset."

"I'll give _you_ a posset," Hooch growled, "If you touch my hair again!" Her wand was out.

"No possets," McGonagall said threateningly.

"If you don't mind!" Snape said loudly, "I would appreciate not being jostled while I'm trying to eat. Will you all please return to your seats?"

The students looked at him in curiosity and the women grumbled, but acquiesced. Snape looked at Dumbledore and wondered if they had all gone mad. He bolted his food and escaped to his chambers where he collapsed in his chair in relief. Thank goodness the festivities were over for another year.

He hadn't been back five minutes before a knock sounded at his door. He heartily debated not opening it, but the knocker was persistent and after the third attempt Snape got up to see who it was.

It was McGonagall. She smiled and batted her eyes at him. He flinched. She gripped a bottle of wine in her hand.

"Hi, Severus! You didn't have any wine with dinner, so I thought I'd bring you some. Can I come in for a little nightcap?"

"Er… No. I'm very tired. Ready to retire for the evening, you know." He forced a yawn and stretched.

Madame Pomfrey appeared behind McGonagall, a bit out of breath.

"Oh pooh," she said. "What are you doing here, Minerva? I came to bring Sevvy his posset. It's my _expert medical opinion_ that he should take it."

She dangled a potion. Snape looked at it suspiciously. McGonagall glared at Pomfrey. At that moment, Professor Sprout hurried up. Snape wondered if all the female teachers in the school had gone completely mental. Perhaps a student had slipped something into the punch at supper. He would have to acquire a sample and test it in the morning.

"Oh, Severus!" Sprout called, "I came to see if you'd care to take a stroll in the garden with me!"

He stared at her. Did the daft woman not realize there was a foot of snow on the ground? Why the hell would he want to go out there at this hour? Or at all?

"I'm sorry, but if you… women will excuse me, I'd really like to be alone. Good night." He firmly shut the door. And locked it with a spell. That should keep them out.

Thankfully, he was not interrupted for the rest of the evening and spent a large part of it sitting in front of the mirror combing his voluminous and radiant locks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two – Girl Trouble**

The bizarre behavior of the women continued throughout the next week and Snape finally avoided them by locking himself in his Potions classroom with a note on the door that mentioned he was working on his upcoming syllabus. He did, however, continue to use his new shampoo. He was growing rather fond of the scent.

The return of students was actually a relief. He strode into his first Potions class and glared about to catch as many unwary Gryffindors as possible for point deduction. To his disgust, all of the little brats were seated and quiet. Even Potter and his two shadows.

"Today you will be concocting a variety of sleeping potions. Depending upon the ingredients, these potions can put the subject to sleep for a few moments, or lock them into a deathlike sleep that can last millennia," he hissed. Every eye was upon him. To his annoyance, Granger's hand was already in the air. He hadn't even asked a question and the insufferable know-it-all was already clamoring to answer. He ignored her.

"You will be drawing lots to see which potion you will be—_what_ Miss Granger?" The sight of her hand waving crazily was just too much to take. He glared at her.

"Professor Snape… erm…" Granger actually blushed and trailed off. Snape was surprised. He couldn't recall ever seeing the walking encyclopedia at a loss for words.

"Spit it out, Miss Granger," he said in as threatening a voice as he could manage. Hermione swallowed but continued gamely, "May I speak with you after class, Professor? It's… er… personal."

Before Snape could reply, five other hands shot up. Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and Daphne Greengrass all had hands in the air waving like flags.

Snape sighed. "Ms. Brown?"

"May I speak with you after class, too, Professor?" Lavender gushed and batted her eyes at him in a strange fashion.

"Me first, Professor!" Pansy whined.

"It's very important that I speak with you, Professor!" yelled Millicent.

"I have the first appointment!" Hermione huffed.

"You're not even in Slytherin," Pansy cried and got to her feet. "He's _my_ Professor, not yours!"

Granger rose and fingered her wand.

"We'll see about that, Parkinson," Hermione gritted. Pansy raised her own wand. Snape could not fathom how he had lost control of his classroom, but he wasn't about to let it continue. Six green jets shot from his wand and hit the girls. They collapsed in their seats, immobilized.

"You may _all_ speak with me after class. Alphabetically by first name," Snape said in a deadly voice. "But it had better be very important. Now. If we may continue with the lesson?"

He recited the list of ingredients and put lots in his cauldron so the students would know which potion to create. He released the girls so they could draw their lots as he walked before each desk. The students were behaving quite oddly today. The boys glared at him as he set the cauldron before each of them—at least that was normal, thank God. But the girls were acting most strangely.

"Thank you, Professor," Daphne said with a giggle as she reached in and drew her lot. "I'm _first_ you know. After class. D for Daphne." She giggled again and Snape clenched his fist on his wand to keep from hexing her with it.

Granger actually touched his hand when she drew her lot. In fact, how she managed to caress the length of his fingers was beyond him when his hand was at the far side of the cauldron. He glared at her suspiciously but she gave him a winsome smile. For the briefest moment, he noticed her teeth were not horse-like any longer. He wondered when that had been corrected.

Pansy actually pursed her lips at him and winked when she drew her lot.

"Do you need to go to the hospital wing, Ms. Parkinson?" he asked dryly. The other girls laughed until Snape silenced them with a look.

Thankfully, they got to making potions after that and Snape eagerly stalked about the class and pointed out their mistakes until Longbottom sobbed abjectly and Potter stared at him with immeasurable hatred. Malfoy grinned and Hermione shook her head and gazed at Snape with disappointment. Potions class was back to normal.

After class Snape went to his office and met with Daphne Greengrass, who was already there waiting for him. After five minutes of trying to get a word out of her when it seemed all she could do was stare at him and giggle, Snape gave her a Pepperup Potion and told her to get the hell out of his office. He had barely begun to rub his temples when Hermione Granger stepped in. For some reason, she had taken off her Gryffindor tie and unbuttoned several buttons too many on her white blouse. And wasn't her skirt far shorter than regulation? Granger slammed the door to shut out the voices of the other girls, which had started to become loud.

Granger sat on the edge of his desk, shoving aside several—thankfully stoppered—potions with her hip before leaning down toward him. Her blouse gaped open in a fashion most shocking… What the hell were Potter and Weasley thinking? It was well rumored that the two little homos hadn't even snogged Ms. Granger, much less wrapped their hands around the two melons staring Severus in the face at the moment. Youth really was wasted on the young.

"Yes, Ms. Granger?" Snape asked hoarsely and snapped his eyes back to her face in what he hoped was a most stern manner.

"Professor," she said breathily. "May I call you Severus?" She leaned forward even farther until Snape feared she would topple straight off the desk onto him.

"No you may not," he said while carrying on a short debate with himself. He should lean backward to avoid her potential toppling, but such an act would be tantamount to cowardice. Snape would give ground to no one. So deciding, he thrust himself forward a bit and his forehead smacked into Hermione's as she (as foreseen!) toppled.

Snape slammed backward into his chair, followed by Hermione's full weight as she fell over the desk and onto him. She clutched his robes to steady herself as Snape's chair began to go over sideways. The room lurched and Snape found himself on the floor atop the curvaceously soft Ms. Granger. Their faces were inches apart and her fists were still clamped onto his robe. Her firm breasts were pressed enticingly against his chest and her legs were drawn up on either side of his waist.

"Professor, I was just wondering if you could tell me what ingredients are in this new lip gloss I bought," Hermione breathed. "I want to make certain it's not poison." With that, she pressed her lips firmly against his. After a shocked moment he realized he should extract himself, but her legs had wrapped themselves firmly around his buttocks and when he reached to dislodge them—where the hell had her stockings gone?—he found only a handful of bare thigh. Her hands had just gone from his robes to tangle in his voluminous and radiant hair and Snape had decided to taste her lip gloss after all (clinical curiosity only; she _had_ asked) when someone set up a dreadful pounding on his office door.

"Granger!" Pansy Parkinson screamed. "You've been in there long enough! It's my turn!"

Snape tore his lips away from Hermione's.

"What happened to Lavender and Millicent?" he asked bemusedly.

"Who cares?" Hermione groaned and yanked his mouth back down to hers.

The door suddenly blasted off the hinges, showering Severus and Hermione in wood shavings and bits of metal. Pansy stalked around the desk.

"You Gryffindor _slut_!" she howled. "Get off of him."

Hermione released Snape's lips and glared at Parkinson over his shoulder.

"Actually, he's on _me_."

Snape coughed in embarrassment and tried to rise without touching Hermione, who was not making it easy by clinging to him as he got to his hands and knees. It was becoming apparent that Ms. Granger was starved for attention—perhaps he should slip a note to that idiot Potter…

He finally extracted himself and got to his feet and cleared his throat.

"Ms. Granger, I'll have that analysis for you tomorrow," he said in a nearly normal tone as he straightened his robes. "Thank you for breaking my fall. Most clumsy of me."

Hermione smiled and paused by the missing door. "No problem, Professor. By the way… I _love_ your hair." She winked at him and sauntered out. Snape caught a glimpse of Lavender Brown, Millicent Bulstrode, and Parvati Patil sprawled on the dungeon floor, looking lifeless. Hermione stepped on Millicent's body on her way out.

"What happened to them?" Snape asked suspiciously. He wisely kept the desk between himself and Pansy as he re-entered the classroom. She leaped over the desk and caught the end of his robe. Snape struggled as she tried to reel him in like a hooked trout.

"Enough about them," Pansy crooned. "Come here, you big sexy Professor, you."

Before Pansy could pounce on him, Snape cursed her with another _Immobulus_ spell. He looked at the fallen girls in disgust. What the hell had gotten into these females?

He shook his head and went back to his room to draft a stern note to Harry Potter.

Snape sat at his desk and shoved aside the dozens of love letters and notes that had steadily overtaken his work space in the week since school had resumed. Most were anonymous, some not. McGonagall's note was in a pink envelope embellished with a kitty face drawn in red ink and little hearts surrounding it. Snape shuddered and shifted the lot of them into a box for later reading if he got bored. A heavy parchment envelope caught his eye because of the lip-print smeared next to the scrawled _Severus_. He sniffed it curiously. Raspberry. He set it resolutely in the box with the others. This had to stop. He located a piece of blank parchment and readied his quill.

"Dear Mr. Potter," Snape's letter began. He scowled and crossed out Mr. Potter. No student would ever address a letter that way. Snape started again.

"Dear Harry." He sneered at the very idea of calling the Potter brat by his first name. "You might want to keep a closer eye on your friend Ms. Granger Hermione. In case you have not noticed, she has grown into quite the delectable wanton little fleshpot over the past—" Snape crossed out the entirety of the letter except for the salutation and sighed. This was turning out to be more difficult than anticipated.

"Dear Harry. It has come to our attention—" Snape patted himself on the back for that one; now it sounded like he was writing as a group, "—that your friend Hermione has been consorting in a most inappropriate manner with a member of Slytherin House. You would do well to curb her lustful tendencies appetites and direct them to someone in your own House before she shames herself more than she already has."

Snape sat back with satisfaction. He didn't bother to sign the letter. He licked his lips for a moment at the memory of Ms. Granger's raspberry flavored lip balm and her firm young body pressed beneath his… He stood up in a cold sweat. Bloody hell, he was old enough to be her… uncle. He went to the mirror and combed his voluminous locks for the sixth time that day.

Curse the uncontrollable magic of _shampoo_ that had brought out his latent dead-sexiness. If only there were decent women of an appropriate age at this school. The hag-esque professors and nubile young students clamoring for his attention were starting to wear on his patience. In the past week, he had been forced to institute strict measures of control. Rules had been posted in his classroom that included:

Students caught pinching the derriere of Professor Snape in or out of class will lose _twenty_ house points

Students caught groping Professor Snape's crotch or any other part of his person will lose _fifty_ house points

Students caught slipping a love potion (or anything else!) into Professor Snape's beverages will lose _seventy-five _house points

As an afterthought, he had been forced to add:

Above rules apply to Hogwarts staff, as well. That includes you, Filch.

Unfortunately he had been forced to apply these rules quite strictly to the members of his own house (damn that persistent Pansy Parkinson!) to the tune of costing Slytherin House hundreds of points. Ravenclaw was currently in the lead on house points mainly because those crafty girls had learned how to torment Snape without being caught. He had found himself obsessing over Mandy Brocklehurst one morning and nearly sought her out to pledge his undying love before chugging a love potion antidote that he had—thankfully!—made part of his morning regimen. He still didn't know how the little minx had managed to slip it into his tea.

He picked up the hand mirror from his desk and peered at his reflection. He shook his beautiful mane of raven hair and sighed. He supposed he could stop using the shampoo and go back to being called a "greasy haired git" but he had become accustomed to having a grime-free scalp and was loathe to return to his former state. He set the mirror down with a sigh. They would all just have to get used to it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three – Narcissa Visits**

Harry frowned at the letter that had come by an anonymous school owl. His frown deepened as he read and his eyes narrowed to bare slits.

"Is this some sort of joke?" he muttered and cast a glare across the table at Hermione, who had finished eating and was drawing little hearts on her notebook with little Ss in them. Harry's gaze sharpened. Or were those little _snakes_?

"So Hermione," Harry said in his usual tactful manner, "Been seeing any _Slytherins_ lately?"

Ron, next to him, choked on his pumpkin juice and stared at Harry.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione demanded. Harry threw the letter at her. Her eyes narrowed as she read it.

"Surely, you're not going to believe this drivel?" she said.

"I don't know. I haven't seen you fighting with Malfoy much, lately."

As if on cue, a pea splattered against Hermione's temple from its launching pad of Draco Malfoy's spoon. Hermione glared over at the Slytherin table and absently wiped the pea remnants from her face while Draco smirked.

"Oh really?" she asked pointedly.

"Well, maybe you don't have the hots for Malfoy, but—" Harry broke off as silence descended the room, which was quickly broken by sighs bursting from the throats of dozens of girls as Professor Snape crossed the room to the teacher's table. Harry glared at Snape as he walked by and then returned his attention to Hermione. To his surprise, Hermione was also making calf-eyes at Snape's back.

"NOT YOU, TOO?" Harry yelled. Half the room turned to gape at him. He was used to that sort of behavior, though, and ignored it.

Hermione glared at him and hissed, "You don't need to shout!"

"Tell me you and… and _Snape_ have not… oh I can't even think it, much less put it into words!"

"Then get your mind out of the gutter and stop thinking it!"

"Fine," Harry snapped. "But I'll be watching you!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to doodling on her notebook. Ron looked from one to the other with his usual expression of wondering what the hell was going on.

Snape looked forward to his meeting with Narcissa Malfoy. He brushed his raven hair vigorously until it gleamed. He looked at himself critically in the mirror. Hmmm. His usual black robes just didn't do justice to his fabulous hair. He stalked to the wardrobe and flipped through Dumbledore's many years of Christmas gifts. He pulled out the deep green robes with silver pinstripes. Actually, it was rather stylish…

Minutes later, Snape admired himself in the mirror. Maybe that bumbling fool Dumbledore wasn't quite as dumb as he appeared. He had a fabulous eye for fashion, apparently. The green robes looked splendid on Snape and fit him magnificently.

Snape answered the knock on his office door a short time later. The stunningly beautiful Narcissa Malfoy stepped inside, escorted by McGonagall, who looked as though she had eaten a bag of lemons. She glared at Narcissa with something akin to hatred.

"That will be all, Minerva," Snape said dryly. McGonagall's eyes moved to Snape and widened in shock before getting that freaky faraway look Snape had learned to avoid. He dragged Narcissa farther into the room and slammed the door on McGonagall.

"Severus?" Narcissa asked, staring at him in rather the same fashion as Minerva.

Snape smiled in what he hoped was a charming manner.

"Do come in, Mrs. Malfoy," he said formally and escorted her to a nearby loveseat he had brought in for this particular occasion.

"Please, call me Cissy," she replied as her eyes took in Snape's appearance. "I'm sorry, but you look so different than usual…"

Snape chuckled and sat next to her. His knee brushed casually against hers as he settled into the cushions.

"Yes, I've been told. I have an appointment with someone from Witch Weekly next week. They're doing some sort of ridiculous story about the Most Eligible Teacher or some such nonsense. But you don't want to hear about my troubles."

Narcissa shook her head and her pale hair swung about nearly as buoyantly as Snape's. He wondered what sort of shampoo she used…

"No, I'm here about Draco. Your note said there had been some trouble…"

Snape noticed a fine tint of pink touching Narcissa's cheeks and he grinned widely. Here was a worthy conquest. Not only was she his age, but she was also gorgeous and dreadfully married to that pompous, overbearing, egocentric bastard Lucius Malfoy… He would bet good gold that Narcissa had a large list of reasons to get even with her husband. Snape wasn't above being casually used for revenge.

"Are you happy, Narcissa?" he asked softly, moving in for the kill. As he asked, he leaned toward her conspiratorially.

Narcissa's blush deepened.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I know that Lucius is always busy making money and weaving plots and rushing about on business for You-Know-Who… I'll bet he leaves you alone far too often. A woman of your rare beauty and intense passion should not be ignored. Cissy, if you were mine, we would never leave the bedchamber!"

She gasped and Snape would have given himself a congratulatory sock on the bicep if she hadn't been in the room. He had boned up quite heavily on romantic drivel by skimming a number of torrid romance stories he'd filched from McGonagall's room after he'd sent her on a lengthy mission to fetch him a potion ingredient from Uzbekistan. It had taken her three days. Three days of peace in which Snape had vowed to send her off again… perhaps to New Zealand this time, or darkest Africa…

He dragged himself back to the present and swooped down upon Narcissa like a bird of prey. He devoured her pouty lips and drank deeply of her nectar, half-expecting a brutal shove and the flare of a _Cruciatus_ curse, but there was no resistance. Wonder of wonders, it seemed Lucius had been ignoring Narcissa after all. Stupid, stupid man.

Hermione was about to knock on the door to Snape's office when Draco Malfoy bolted through it and knocked her straight on her backside. He sprawled over her and the door clicked shut behind him. She stared up into Draco's face, shocked to find a stricken expression darkening his grey eyes. He didn't have a snarl on his lips, nor did he even seem to recognize her.

He rolled absently off of Hermione and curled into a ball with his arms clasped tightly over his drawn-up knees. He stared into an unseen distance and rocked softly.

"My God," she heard him say over and over. He seemed to be in shock bordering on catatonia. She crawled to him and surprised herself by putting a hand on his trembling shoulder.

"Malfoy! What's wrong?"

He buried his head on his knees and shuddered.

"My father… oh my father is going to kill kill kill _kill_…"

"Not to be obvious, but isn't that kind of… what your father _does_, Draco?" Hermione asked gently.

He raised his head to stare at her venomously.

"He kills mudbloods and Muggle-lovers, not his own wife!" Draco snapped. "At least, not yet, but he _will_ when he finds out…"

Hermione cast a suspicious glance at Snape's closed door.

"Are you saying—"

"My mother and Severus Snape!" Draco confirmed hoarsely.

"_That two-timing bastard!_" Hermione shrieked. Draco actually gaped at her, the first time she could recall seeing that expression on his handsome face.

"Are you saying—"

She glared at Draco.

"Snape is dead-sexy now, you know, ever since he started washing his hair although right now I'd bloody well like to kill whomever got him started down that path now that he's turned into a hedonistic—"

"It was me," Draco choked.

"What?"

"Me. I sent Snape shampoo for Christmas. Anonymously. Frankly, he was a bloody embarrassment to the whole of Slytherin House with his greasy hair and insistence on constantly wearing _black_, which is the worst possible thing you can wear if you have dandruff, which of course he _had_, so…" Draco trailed off.

Hermione sighed, surprised at her sudden rush of sympathy. Draco's act of… well, it certainly hadn't been kindness… self-serving outrage?... had sprung round to bite him on the ass most sharply.

"You meant well," Hermione said softly. She leaned forward on impulse and sniffed at Draco's hair. It smelled exactly like Snape's! She looked at him critically while he stared at her guardedly. "You know, Malfoy, if you left some of that goo out of your hair and stopped trying to look like some slick 50s gangster…"

She thrust her hands into Draco's hair and began to muss it vigorously, ignoring his flailing hands and yelps of protest. When finished, she sat back and examined him analytically.

"Draco Malfoy," she purred. "With your hair mussed about like that… You really are quite stunningly gorgeous! How could I not have noticed before?" She slid her hands back into his luminous white blonde hair and clamped her lips onto his before he could escape. He thrashed like an impaled shark for a moment, but gradually relaxed under her passionate onslaught. Before long, his hands had crept up to encircle her body and within fifteen minutes they were rolling on the floor like crazed animals, tearing at each other's clothing.

Hermione had just succeeded in ripping the last button from Draco's confining shirt when a shriek interrupted her.

"My own son! And a filthy _filthy_ mudblood!"

Hermione detached her lips from Draco's and looked over her shoulder at Narcissa Malfoy who, while beautiful, was looking decidedly rumpled.

Draco glared at his mother.

"You're a fine one to talk!" he yelled. "Carrying on with Snape, of all people! Wait until father finds out!"

Narcissa fairly crackled with rage.

"Wait until he finds out about your little mudblood girlfriend!" she threatened.

Draco pushed Hermione away and sprang to his feet.

"He won't care about that after he hears about _you_! And I'm telling him right now!"

"Not if I get to an owl first!" Narcissa shrieked and the two pale-haired Malfoys bolted down the hallway. Draco had a sizeable lead until Narcissa began to shoot curses at him. Green beams of light began blasting through the halls of Hogwarts. Hermione lay on her stomach on the cold floor and braced her chin with her palms as she watched them flee.

"What the hell does a girl have to do to find love around here?" she asked with a sigh.

"You can't find love in the whole of Gryffindor?" Snape asked dryly behind her.

Hermione rolled onto her back to look up at him.

"Are you kidding? Gryffindors are so bloody noble they go pray for an hour after a good snog session in order to beg forgiveness. I swear, I thought Seamus Finnegan was going to have an actual heart attack when he accidentally touched my breast with his arm in the hall. If he had actually gripped it, I believe he would have fainted dead away." She snorted in disgust. "The only ones bold enough to do anything even remotely naughty are in Slytherin, but most of them are utterly grotesque…"

"Except Malfoy."

Hermione pushed herself to her feet.

"Hmmmm, yes, Draco has potential. But he's not nearly as knowledgeable and creative and worldly as _you_, dear Severus…" She stepped close to him and gazed into his face with lips pursed eagerly. She shut her eyes.

She snapped them open again to the slamming of Snape's door and the sound of multiple locks being thrown.

Men. Damn the lot of them!

Hermione stalked after the Malfoys.

She was crossing the foyer when she spotted Draco sitting dejectedly on the stone steps. She sat down beside him.

"You mother won?" she asked sympathetically.

"No, we decided on a truce," Draco grumped. "I won't tell father about her little fling with—" Draco shuddered, "Snape. And she won't tell father about… _you_… and whatever we happened to be doing back there."

She glanced sidelong at him.

"You know, your hair is still deliciously messed up," she said softly. His grey eyes met hers sardonically. She was about to lean over and continue their snog session, regardless of who might be watching, when an ear-splitting shriek brought her to her feet in panic.

Harry stood at the bottom of the steps staring at her in sheer horror.

"YOU WERE NOT ABOUT TO KISS DRACO MALFOY!" he bellowed.

"Damn it, Harry, can you tone it down? I swear if I hang around you another three days I'll have permanent hearing damage."

"_You obviously have permanent mental damage now_!" he yelled a tiny bit quieter. "What _are_ you doing?"

Draco looked up at her curiously with that annoying little smirk he had relocated from wherever he'd put it for the past while. He obviously enjoyed her discomfiture.

"Well, you see, Draco here—"

"SO IT'S _DRACO_ NOW?" Harry screamed. "NOT _MALFOY_?"

Hermione rubbed her aching temples.

"I need to go lie down. _Alone_, apparently," she snapped. She turned and stalked off to the Gryffindor common room with Harry trailing her shrieking like a fishwife. She finally escaped him by seeking her own bed in the girl's dormitory.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four – Hermione's Chart**

Harry Potter was not happy. First, his arch-nemesis Snape… Well, not his _arch_-nemesis, since that was Voldemort. Not really his _nemesis_, either, since Malfoy generally claimed that title. He supposed that left Snape a distant third on the nemesis scale. Sort of a semi-nemesis. Anyway, first his semi-nemesis Snape had turned into some sort of wildly popular icon of feminine lust; next Hermione (who knew she even _had_ those types of feelings?) began to pant after the horrible Slytherin professor; and then to top it off she was caught inches from snogging—_snogging_!—Draco Malfoy! What would be next? Seducing Voldemort?

Hermione ignored him when she entered the Gryffindor common room shortly before dinner and sat on a couch before the fire with a book and quill. He watched her without speaking for a long time until she finally turned to him with her lips set in a firm line.

"You don't plan to shout at me again, do you?"

"No. Just wondering what is up with all the Slytherins lately," he said mildly. "You seem to have some sort of fixation."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "For your information, I am performing a scientific study."

The crushing relief Harry felt at those words was almost indescribable. He felt like laughing at the liberation of his fears. Of course! A scientific study! That was so much more… _Hermione_ than what he'd been thinking.

"Oh thank God. I seriously thought you had a thing for Malfoy there for a minute…"

Hermione sniffed. "Surely not. I'm simply doing a study on kissing."

Harry's relief seized up into a frozen knot.

"K… kissing?"

"Yes. I'm making a chart of which boys are the best kissers, cross-referenced by age, hair and eye color, House, and a few other factors."

Harry coughed for a moment until he found his voice.

"How are you conducting this… research?"

"By snogging every single male in the building, of course. How else am I supposed to acquire the data? Word of mouth?" Her own words struck her as funny and she started to giggle. "Word of mouth."

Harry did not find it even a trifle funny. He scowled.

"Every male? Even… ewwww, not even _Filch_?"

"_Every_ male. Frankly, I have high hopes for Filch since he's likely completely repressed his every sexual impulse since God knows when and once those floodgates are released… Well, I plan to be prepared for anything that day, let me tell you."

"I'll pretend you never mentioned that particular thought process. Why did you decide to start with Slytherin? What's wrong with us Gryffindors?"

Hermione looked at him coolly.

"Are you volunteering?"

Harry was instantly red. He jabbered incoherently for a moment until Hermione sighed and scooted over to sit next to him.

"Very well, then," she said. "Let's see what you've got."

Harry was expecting a sweet, somewhat sisterly, experimental kiss, but apparently that wasn't what Hermione had in mind at all. If the Dursleys' had ever sprung for fillings for Harry's teeth, he felt sure they would have been gone after Hermione's mind-blowing kiss. After about eight seconds, he forgot all thought of resistance and let his arms slide around Hermione's waist. She was doing something quite extraordinary with her tongue that was making fireworks shoot off in his brain. Her hands were making his hair messier than usual. He suddenly remembered this was a test and he sure as hell didn't plan on coming in second to _Malfoy_! He turned Hermione's own tricks on her and used his imagination to come up with a few more.

Twenty minutes later, they were on the floor of the Gryffindor common room and somehow Harry's shirt was missing when Ginny Weasley screamed as though Voldemort had appeared. Harry released his liplock on Hermione and looked up dazedly.

"How _could_ you?" Ginny demanded and burst into tears. Harry wasn't certain whether she was talking to him or Hermione, but she fled to her room before the question could be asked.

Hermione sighed and pushed Harry away before climbing to her feet shakily.

"Top marks, Harry," she said with a throaty chuckle. She looked over at Colin Creevey, who had been sitting almost invisibly in a nearby chair the whole time.

"You're next, Creevey," Hermione said in a husky voice. Colin gave a terrified squeak and bolted for the boy's dorm. Hermione burst out laughing.

"Maybe next time."

Harry wondered for the briefest moment if it really was Hermione or if one of the Slytherin girls had Polyjuiced herself into Hermione's likeness. He tested the theory.

"What's the incantation for that _Evanesco_ spell, again?"

Hermione was instantly business. She yanked her wand out. "Honestly, Harry, I've shown this to you sixteen times already. Sometimes I think you and Ron—"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and listened half-heartedly to her explanation, glad that the Kissing Machine was gone and his good old chum was back. Although the next time he found himself hanging out under an invisibility cloak with Hermione waiting for someone to show up and kill a hippogriff, he'd put the time to much better use than previously... He felt rather warm just thinking about it.

"I'd better go find Ron," he said hoarsely.

"Good. Tell him he's next since Creevey bailed."

Harry hurried to the portrait hole.

"Harry?" Hermione called before he departed. He turned to look at her. His shirt dangled from her fingertips.

"You might want this."

Harry went back and took his shirt. As he shrugged into it he asked, "Did you really snog Professor Snape? I heard a rumor…"

Hermione smiled slightly and an odd faraway look glazed over her brown eyes. She sighed deeply.

"Ahem!" she said and straightened. "That's confidential, Harry. Afraid I can't disclose anything relating to my research. Run along, now. See you at supper."

She turned and headed for the girl's dormitory while humming a happy song. Harry tried to drag a hand through his hair, but it was helplessly tangled. He gave up and reflected that the one girl he thought he knew had turned out to be just like the rest of them. A frightening, perplexing mystery.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five – Snape's Bad Hair Day**

Snape was not happy. He crushed the parchment in his fist angrily, but the words had burned themselves into his brain.

"S. Saw your article in Witch Weekly. Did not realize you aspired to a career in modeling. Believe you may have outlived your usefulness due to newfound popularity. Also not certain Lucius will appreciate your not-so-secret fling with his wife. Will ponder your situation. Until then, consider yourself on probation. V."

Snape incinerated the message in his fist. To top it off, the damned thing had been delivered by _owl_ in broad daylight. Snape might as well get some gold thread and embroider "Voldemort's Man" on the back of his robes. He poured himself a shot of firewhiskey and gulped it down. That stupid article in Witch Weekly… He glanced guiltily at the heaping pile of fan mail that had arrived in a steady stream since then. From lonely, desperate witches, mostly. And a few wizards. And one letter with handwriting that looked curiously similar to Filch's. Snape preferred not to read that one. Just in case.

Theo Nott knocked on Snape's door, although it was already open.

"The Headmaster wants to see you right away, Professor."

Snape sighed, but stood up and straightened his forest green robes. He checked his perfect hair briefly in the mirror and sauntered off to meet with Dumbledore.

The Headmaster was sitting behind his desk with eyes shut behind steepled hands. He looked deep in thought. Or asleep. Or possibly dead.

Dumbledore's eyes snapped open. Snape scowled. No such luck.

"Ah, Severus," he said. "Severus, Severus, Severus, Severus, Severus."

Snape gritted his teeth. He hated it when Dumbledore did that. Really hated it. He narrowed his eyes and waited.

"It has come to my attention that Voldemort has begun to question your usefulness as a spy."

Snape could not conceal his surprise.

"Do not be surprised, Severus. I have many sources of information. Did you think me simply a bumbling old fool?"

_Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it._

"I'm afraid that if Voldemort releases you from his service—and you survive, of course—that I will be forced to release you from mine, as well. One cannot be a double-agent without first being an agent, now can one?"

"Are you threatening me?" Snape asked venomously.

Dumbledore laughed as if heartily amused and his eyes twinkled merrily over spectacles Snape knew were entirely useless. The bumbling old fool used them only to make himself appear wise.

"Severus, Severus, Severus, Severus, Severus," he repeated. Snape closed his eyes at the onset of a migraine. "Of course I'm not threatening you, dear old friend. I'm merely suggesting that you consider your position with care. Great care."

Great care. Right. At that moment, he wished he could turn both Voldemort and Dumbledore into cats. He would soak them both down with water. And toss them into a burlap sack. And hang the sack over a bubbling cauldron of liquid death, just in case one managed to claw its way out… Snape smiled broadly at the thought.

"Severus, you do recall that I am a skilled Legilimens?" Dumbledore asked in a voice heavy with disappointment. Snape's grin vanished. The old bastard sucked the fun out of everything.

"You may go," Dumbledore said with a sigh. Snape stalked gratefully toward the exit.

"Oh, and Severus," Dumbledore added, "Do try and be more circumspect with your teacher/student relationships. I realize the temptations can be… extreme at times, but I would prefer not to receive any owls from enraged parents."

Snape's jaw clenched in unison with his fists and he stomped out with no reply.

Circumspect. He'd like to see Dumbledore be "circumspect" with Pansy Parkinson jumping out of every dark cranny, clamping her lips on his and trying to tear his clothing off. Circumspect, hah!

The thought of Pansy made Snape walk cautiously in the dead center of the hallway while scanning every possible hiding place. The girl was getting trickier. Just yesterday she had popped out of an urn that Snape would have sworn she couldn't have fit into…

When he reached the dungeon steps and started down, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was almost to the safety of his office. The thought had barely registered when a pair of arms wrapped around his legs and sent him flying headlong down the stairs. His head cracked sharply on the bottom step and he ended in an ungainly heap at the foot. A warm body climbed atop him.

He couldn't focus through the stars that swam across his vision. Two hands pressed against his cheeks.

"Oh, my poor, poor Sevvie," someone crooned. "Did I hurt you? Let me kiss it better."

Soft lips clamped onto his and the momentary numbness wore off as pain exploded through his head. Though he could scarcely think through the blinding pain, he groped in his robes for his wand. He managed to extract it and touched his attacker with the tip. The spell was necessarily wordless, but still effective. The girl shrieked and released him. She scooted back several feet and looked at him accusingly as he sat up and put a hand to his aching skull. Astonishingly, there was no blood, just a lump the size of a duck egg and growing.

"That was hardly fair," Pansy said accusingly.

"You call it fair to tackle me on the bloody stairs?" he snarled. "You could have broken my bloody neck! As it is, you nearly split my head open!"

"Well, you keep avoiding me," she pouted.

"I'm twice your damn age! I went to school with you mum, for pity's sake. Do you have any idea what your parents would do if they saw you carrying on like this?"

She tossed her black hair.

"I don't care. I'm nearly of age. Soon they won't have any say in what I do."

"Well, you're not of age, yet. Can't you leave me be? I thought you were Draco Malfoy's girlfriend."

Pansy sniffed. "Not really. He just likes to be seen with me because I'm the prettiest girl in Slytherin. When we're together too long, we argue mercilessly. We're too alike. Both of us go for the jugular. We'd most likely kill each other, eventually."

Snape rubbed his sore head and nodded grudgingly at her words. She was pretty astute for a child. He glanced at her through hooded eyes. Although she wouldn't be a child much longer. She really was the prettiest girl in Slytherin with her raven-dark hair cut in a shoulder-length bob and thickly lashed eyes the same shade. Her upturned nose was awfully cute…

Snape shook off the thought angrily. Circumspect, remember? He sighed.

"Nevertheless, you must stop leaping out at me," he ordered and got to his feet. His surroundings swam sickeningly for a moment and he swayed. He felt her arms go around his waist tightly.

"Here, let me help you," she said. "No, don't fight me; I'm not going to kiss you. Yet. Just lean on me until we get to your office."

Snape sighed and relented. Once there she retrieved a headache-easing potion for him and made him a cup of strong tea. When he was comfortably seated on his couch with fluffed pillows, she removed his boots.

"Would you like me to massage your feet?" she asked.

"No, I would like you to leave."

"Fine. Damn you, anyway!" She flounced out.

Bloody hell. He missed her when she was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six - Research**

Ron staggered into the Great Hall and slumped into his seat next to Harry. He looked completely dazed and his hair was messier than Harry's.

"You've been with Hermione?" Harry asked.

Ron swallowed hard and shot him a look.

"How did you know?"

"She's kissing everyone in school. Research, she calls it."

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered.

"Yeah. How long did yours go?"

"Ten minutes, I think. Kind of lost track of time. And everything else. You?"

"About the same," Harry lied. He'd been trying to think of a way to ask Hermione for a redo. Maybe Harry could start his own "research project."

Ron grimaced. "She's going to kiss Slytherins, too?"

"I suppose."

"I'd like to be there when she tries to kiss Malfoy," Ron said with a laugh. Harry tried to laugh, too, but when he'd caught them on the stairs, Malfoy hadn't looked to be too upset about the idea of Hermione kissing him.

"Or Montague," Ron said and sobered. They both looked at the burly Slytherin. He'd likely _Avada Kedavra_ Hermione if she tried to kiss him.

"She's too smart to be that obvious. She'll probably Polyjuice herself into someone from Slytherin, but I doubt even Slytherin girls would want to kiss Montague."

"She tried to kiss Colin, but he fainted."

Ginny, across from them, had been listening to their conversation.

"What are you two talking about?" she asked finally.

"Don't you girls gossip about stuff like this?" Harry asked. "I thought you'd know all about it. Hermione said she has a research project. She intends to kiss every male in the school and make some sort of chart."

"What for?" Ginny asked.

Harry's brow wrinkled.

"I didn't really have a chance to ask her that."

"Is that why she was kissing you in the common room? You two aren't going out?" Ginny demanded.

"We're not going out. She said it was research. She kissed Ron, too."

"And Seamus Finnegan," Ron said. "I walked in on them. That's when she pounced on me."

"That's disgusting!" Ginny said, but she looked a bit relieved.

Hermione strolled up to the table at that moment, humming softly.

"Where did I rate, Hermione?" Ron asked suddenly.

Hermione sat down between him and Harry.

"I can't say until the chart is finished. Let's just say you're not at the bottom."

"Who's at the top? So far, I mean?"

Hermione tsked and reached for a wheat bun. "Now, now, I've barely started on the Gryffindors. I still have three Houses to go. And the staff, of course."

Ron recoiled.

"Staff? You mean… Dumbledore and Hagrid… and _Snape_?"

Hermione pondered for a moment.

"You know, I don't think Dumbledore would kiss me no matter what, so I'll have to cross him off the list. And Hagrid is a bit too much like a big brother. I think that might be gross."

"And Snape?" Ron shuddered at the idea.

"So, Ginny. How is Quidditch going?" Hermione asked brightly, ignoring Ron's question. Harry groaned and put his head in his hands.

"Hermione already kissed Snape," Ginny said bluntly. Hermione's eyes narrowed.

Harry clapped his hands over his ears. "I'm not hearing this. I'm not hearing this."

"You're just upset because I kissed Harry."

Harry unclapped his ears and perked up.

"Am not!"

"You are so. Harry, Ginny still likes you. Ginny, Harry is a top-notch kisser. Highly recommended. You two should go off and snog somewhere."

Both Harry and Ginny flushed scarlet.

"Honestly," Hermione snapped with a sigh. "Ron, tell them it's okay."

"It's okay," Ron mumbled. "Do I rank above or below Harry?"

"This isn't about you, Ron."

Ginny got up and ran from the table.

"Better go after her," Hermione commented around a bite of roll. "You're wasting valuable kissing time."

For once, Harry didn't argue. He bolted.

"If I'm not in the top five, I want a do-over," Ron said petulantly.

Hermione stepped off the moving staircase and rounded the corner. She started in fright and clutched her books to her chest when a voice rang out from the nearby shadows.

"What the hell are you about, Granger?"

Hermione let out a shaky breath when she recognized the voice.

"Malfoy. You scared me half to death. What are you doing hiding up here?" She peered into the darkness, but couldn't spot him. She had done some studying in the library after dinner and was returning to the Gryffindor common room.

"I've heard some nasty rumors about you."

"Worse than the ones you started yourself, you mean?" she asked dryly.

Footsteps and voices sounded from below. More students were approaching. Malfoy suddenly appeared in front of her. He grabbed her arm and dragged her down the landing and through an archway, away from the stairs. She allowed it, curious about his behavior. He towed her until they were well away from casual eavesdroppers and stopped when they reached a small room—empty but for a single table and chair. A tall stained-glass window threw a mosaic of light on the floor. Malfoy stopped under the light and a yellow beam crossed his features and turned his hair bright gold. She noticed he still wore it loose. It dangled becomingly over his eyes.

He released her.

"I heard a rumor that you plan to kiss every male at Hogwarts for some sort of book you're writing."

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"Then you deny it? Crabbe said you grabbed him outside the Great Hall after breakfast this morning and planted one on him."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Oh. That. Well, it took every bit of Gryffindor bravery I possessed, let me tell you. Not only could he crush me like an insect, but I expected he would kiss like a slavering boarhound—in that I was entirely accurate, by the way—"

"You. Kissed. Crabbe. _Why_?" Draco demanded.

"Okay, so the rumor is somewhat true, except I'm not writing a book, I'm simply compiling a chart—"

Draco's eyes flashed as his golden brows drew down.

"So, all that outside Snape's office—it was just _research_? Some sort of clinical study on your part?"

"No," she admitted. "Kissing you had nothing at all to do with my research."

"Nothing at all? Really? Why don't I believe you?"

"I kissed you because I wanted to. Outside Snape's office, you looked so beautiful and vulnerable… I wanted to take you in my arms and make everything better. Of course, the minute I kissed you I wanted to…" She trailed off with a cough.

"To what?" he asked suspiciously.

"To never stop."

He stared at her speculatively, obviously mistrustful.

"I thought you hated me," he said.

She dropped her books in a heap at her feet and stepped forward to slide her hands into his silken hair again.

"I don't hate you at all," she breathed and kissed him. To her relief, he didn't resist, and she let out a muffled sigh of pleasure when his arms closed around her waist.

"I hate you, though," he muttered around her kiss.

Hermione giggled.

"I can tell."

An hour later, Hermione grabbed Draco's shoulders and pushed him back forcibly. They were sitting on the floor, locked in a passionate embrace. To her delight, he was breathing as hard as she and his eyes looked slightly unfocused. His face was highlighted in a blue pane and he looked like a rather mussed Jack Frost.

"What?" he muttered and leaned in for another kiss. She put a finger over his lips reluctantly.

"It's almost time for lights out. We'd better go. I don't really want to spend the night with you on this cold, dusty floor."

That was a blatant lie. She would have liked nothing better than to curl up in his arms on this—or any other—cold, dusty floor and…

"We could find a floor that was less cold and dusty," Draco suggested, smashing her resolve into powder. The very thought of it sizzled the synapses in her brain and left her grasping for words for a long moment.

"No," she managed to choke.

"Why not?"

She couldn't think of a single reason. She knew reason was in there somewhere, but damned if she could locate it while gazing into Draco's too-handsome face.

"Where?" she asked breathily. His silver-blue eyes widened and then narrowed in consternation.

"Snape's office? He's got that big couch…"

"He's probably there. Tormenting a student with detention… or entertaining."

Draco grimaced, probably remembering Snape entertaining his own mother.

"Right. There has to be somewhere…"

Logic was slowly returning to Hermione under the onslaught of rational thought. She got to her feet and took several resolute steps away from Draco.

"All right, then. Back to your common room," she said.

"I'm sure I can think of a place."

"Really, Malfoy. What would your little Slytherin friends think?"

"I wouldn't tell them!" he replied as if the very idea was ludicrous. Hermione turned and stalked out, muttering about leopards and spots.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven – Draco's Quest**

Snape admired himself in the mirror. His robes today were silver-grey, which quite brought out the shine in his hair. He had actually gone to Diagon Alley and purchased new robes. Madame Malkin had nearly fainted at the sight of him and had gushed about his appearance while thrusting robe after robe at him for nearly an hour. He had to admit, there was something to this whole fashion idea. He had purchased six new robes in varying colors and patterns. He glared at his reflection when he noticed a hair out of place. He searched through the various bottles and jars on his dressing table and snatched up a spray bottle. A couple of squirts on the errant hair brought it back into perfect symmetry and he smiled jauntily.

Today, Snape would escort the Hogwarts brats to Hogsmeade, where Snape had a very important meeting set up. He checked his appearance one last time and sailed out.

Draco stormed up to Hermione in the hallway.

"Snape has got to be stopped," he said flatly. She blinked at him.

"Malfoy, you realize you're speaking to me in public? Like, human to human?"

"This is important!"

"Well, I'm not the one with the evil reputation to uphold. Just looking out for your own best interests, you know?"

"Can you be serious for a moment and listen to me?"

"All right. Snape. What's the problem, then?"

"He stole all my hair care products."

Hermione stared at him blankly.

"All of it! My shampoo, conditioner, spray, gel, shining agent, highlighting crème—what the hell will Snape do with highlighting crème, I ask you—are you listening?"

"Of course, Draco, it just… doesn't seem all that serious."

"Not serious?" he yelped. "Look at my hair! It's gone completely flat! And look! Dull as tarnished silver!"

She looked at him critically. His hair draped becomingly over his grey eyes and if it was any less gorgeous than normal, she couldn't tell it a whit.

"You're as dead sexy as ever and your hair is stunning. I think you're overreacting."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better," he said petulantly. "Feel it. Lifeless and stiff as Hagrid's beard!"

"I really don't think I should feel your hair right now," Hermione said and glanced around at their growing audience. Several Slytherins were starting at Draco as if he'd grown two heads and Ron, on Hermione's right, was goggling in sheer astonishment.

"Feel it!" Draco demanded.

Hermione shoved her hand into the silver blonde mass and sighed appreciatively. It felt like it always did—silky and soft as a newborn puppy's coat. She let her hand linger for a moment longer than necessary.

"Your hair is perfect, Draco. Now, snap out of it."

"He's got to be stopped. He confiscated my things with some trumped up excuse about checking them for contraband potion ingredients."

"Erm, Draco, why you talking to that Mudblood?" Montague asked, sidling near.

Draco scowled. "Because I need a plan and you guys suck at plans. Granger is going to help me get my supplies back."

"We can't go take them from Snape's quarters," Hermione said rationally. "He'll just take them back again."

"Then what am I going to do? I can't go about looking like this!"

Hermione sighed. "Fine. Come with me to Hogsmeade. I'll come up with a plan on the way."

Ron and several Slytherins began to protest, but a venomous glare from Malfoy silenced them all.

"Do you have a better idea?" he snarled. The quiet was deafening. "I thought not."

With that, Draco grabbed Hermione's arm and they headed for Hogsmeade.

Their feet crunched in the snow as they tromped along the well-worn path.

"Well?" Draco asked.

"It's only been five minutes!"

"You're the genius. So what's the plan?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco wasn't half as much fun when he wasn't snogging her madly.

"All right. I assume you know how to _Apparate_. Even though you haven't a license."

"Of course. A Malfoy always has an escape route close to hand."

"Because of the lovely company you keep, no doubt."

"Present company included."

"Touché."

"Do you have a plan, or not?"

"It's simple. We sneak away and _Apparate_ to Diagon Alley. You buy your things and we return before anyone notices."

"You can Apparate, too?" Draco asked, seeming impressed.

"Yes. I learned at the Burrow. With Fred and George _Apparating_ and _Disapparating_ all over the place, there is no way the Ministry could spot underage magic."

"Very sneaky, Granger. I'm impressed."

Hermione blushed. Leave it to Draco to be impressed by something illegal. Still, with Harry's Voldemort situation, Hermione thought it prudent to learn every defense possible, including escape.

"So, is it a plan?"

"I would have thought of that, myself. If I weren't so upset."

"Of course you would. You can go by yourself, if you wish."

"You can come with me. Maybe we can find something to tame your frizz."

"I hardly have any frizz!"

She endured Draco's speculative look and reasoned that if he could find fault with his own soft-as-silk lovely mane, hers probably looked a positive fright to him. She capitulated.

"Fine. You're the hair care expert. I'm in your hands."

"I rather like the sound of that."

So did Hermione.

They appeared near The Leaky Cauldron and made their way to the Apothecary. The proprietor looked up polishing bottles when they entered.

"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasant surprise. And Miss… Granger…?" Her eyes flicked from one of them to the other in puzzlement. Hermione could practically hear her thoughts churning. Pureblood, Mudblood. Pureblood, Mudblood. She blinked. "Shouldn't you two be at school?"

"This is an emergency," Draco said. "Someone stole all my hair supplies."

The woman gasped. "Come right this way! Well, you know where everything is."

Draco marched to a rear corner of the store Hermione had never noticed before. The shopkeeper grabbed a basket and Draco threw bottles and jars into it. Hermione looked at some curiously. Many were obviously Muggle products. She was certain Draco did not know that and she didn't plan to enlighten him.

When he finished loading the basket, he looked at Hermione critically.

"Let's see. We'll try this, this… and this."

He added three products to his basket.

As he set his purchases on the counter, Hermione's eye was caught by a selection of lip glosses. She picked one out.

Draco tsked at her.

"That's far too orange for your skin tone," he said and reached for the display.

"Try this one." He held up a cinnamon-colored tube. She wrinkled her nose, but applied a bit and looked at him questioningly.

"It's flavored," she said and touched her lower lip with her tongue.

"The color isn't bad, though perhaps a bit dark. What's kind is it?"

"Hazelnut."

Draco shuddered. "That will never do. I despise nuts."

The shopkeeper watched them with eyes wide as plates.

Hermione eliminated it with a wave of her wand while Draco selected one the color of a pecan shell. She obediently smoothed it on.

"Well?" he asked.

"Butter Rum."

"Perfect. An excellent shade, also."

He tossed the tube onto the pile.

"All right. Wrap it up and put this on my mother's tab," Draco said imperiously. "I'll thank you not to mention we were here."

The shopkeeper nodded nervously and hurried to put everything into a handled bag with the name of the shop emblazoned on the front.

Outside, they _Apparated_ back to Hogsmeade. The operation had taken less than twenty minutes.

They stood in a clump of snow-topped bushes behind The Hog's Head.

"Thanks for the plan. Let me taste that lip gloss, now."

Hermione leaned forward and let Draco taste the butter rum flavor lingeringly. His nose and lips were cold. When she opened her eyes, snow was beginning to fall in huge clumps.

"We should go. I'd invite you to The Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer, but I think you've quite horrified your Slytherin friends enough for one day."

She giggled suddenly and reached out to slide her thumb across Draco's lips.

"Definitely not your shade. Something more in a frost, I should say." She wiped the remains of her lip gloss from his slightly-smirking mouth. He grabbed her hand and nibbled on the tips of her cold fingertips, sending a jolt of electricity shooting down her spine.

They both started as the back door to The Hog's Head opened. Both ducked and peered through the branches at the man who shut the door and walked off through the snow, whistling a jaunty tune.

"Tell me that wasn't Snape," Draco said.

"Did you see what he was wearing? Silver robes? And his cape was trimmed in ermine? What's happened to him?"

"Have you ever heard him whistle?"

"Not even when he was torturing Harry or me. He looks positively… happy."

The figure disappeared into the swirling snow and the conspirators stepped from hiding. Hermione used her wand to change the logo on Draco's bag to read Honeydukes Sweetshop.

"Filch will check your bag, though. How will you explain all that?"

"Filch is an idiot. I won't need to."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight – Snape's Revelation**

Harry's world was turning upside down and he could barely keep up with the changes. He had spent a most excellent day in Hogsmeade snogging Ginny Weasley in Madame Puddifoot's and ignoring the death glares sent his way by Cho Chang during the brief moments that she wasn't doing her own snogging with Eddie Carmichael.

All had been going well until Ron tracked him down to inform him of Draco's conversation with Hermione. Astounding as it was to hear that Draco had even spoken to Hermione in a civil manner, it was even more unbelievable that she would actually _help_ the git.

To add icing to the cake, Hermione had come down from the girl's dorm this morning looking… well, amazing. Her hair was completely tamed and looped over her shoulders in stunning honey-colored ringlets. She had even applied some sort of makeup and her lips were a pouty, tempting smear.

A host of Gryffindor males sprang to their feet and clustered about her.

"Add me to your chart, Hermione!"

"My turn!"

"You already had a turn, Finnegan."

It degenerated into a shoving match and Harry debated joining the queue when Creevey popped in to tell him Snape wanted to see him immediately.

Harry sighed. Oh well, if Ginny caught him kissing Hermione again, he'd be wearing donkey ears for a week.

He exited the portrait hole and left the squabbling behind.

To his surprise, Snape wasn't alone in his office. Draco Malfoy lounged indolently in a chair before Snape's desk.

"Potter," Draco said with a sneer.

"Malfoy," Harry replied contemptuously.

"Sit down, Potter," Snape ordered. Though he wore cream-colored robes trimmed in deep green velvet, his voice held the same obnoxious tone as usual.

Harry reluctantly sat next to Malfoy.

"I am leaving Hogwarts," Snape announced. "But, before I do, I have some things to tell both of you."

Malfoy sat up in surprise and Harry held his breath, certain that Snape was playing some horrible prank on him.

"Potter. Dumbledore has been using you as bait for Voldemort since you were born. Do _not_ speak until I am finished. He planted the brilliant idea in Sirius Black's tiny mind to make Pettigrew the Potter's Secret Keeper, knowing full well that the _rat_ was already spying for Voldemort. If you ask Dog Face, he will swear it was his own idea. The old man is clever that way. He intended to lure Voldemort to the Potters', where the Order of the Phoenix would be waiting to take him out. However, the Dark Lord showed up earlier than expected. Damned annoying of him, I'm sure, and the rest is history. Did you never wonder why everyone appeared at the Potters' within minutes of the attack?"

Harry glared at him in an icy rage. How dared he utter such lies?

"Next, he conveniently hid the Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts guarded by spells that _eleven-year-olds_ could decipher. He arranged a 'break in' at Gringott's to make the move more convincing. 'Wise old Dumbledore moved the Stone just in time.'" Snape snorted. "I should know; I'm the one that broke into Gringott's for him. He wanted to see just how strong a wizard Harry was, and judge Voldemort's weakness. It worked, too, as The Boy Who Lived managed to get rid of Voldemort's host, at least for the time being."

Harry glared, but said nothing. Snape went on.

"The Chamber of Secrets fiasco was a lucky stroke for Dumbledore. Draco's father took it upon himself to wreak a little havoc at Hogwarts in the hope of ousting Dumbledore for good. Once again, the boy hero here managed to save the day, and in the process destroyed something precious to Voldemort, something the old man hadn't even thought to look for. It wasn't until the diary was destroyed that Dumbledore realized what he was up against. Unfortunately, little Harry Potter wasn't growing up fast enough. He needed a bit of help."

Despite his anger, Harry was fascinated by Snape's take on things. Even though he was completely mental, his thought processes were interestingly twisted.

"Sirius Black conveniently escaped from Azkaban and the dementors were sent roaming all over the place, including the school. Isn't it interesting that the school is protected from all sorts of gruesome things, but Dumbledore couldn't be bothered with a simple spell to keep the dementors off Hogwarts' grounds? Also interesting that they should repeatedly attack Harry Potter. Rather a cold-blooded way to test Potter's mettle, I should say, but no one asked _my_ opinion."

Harry felt a moment of trepidation. He had wondered the same thing, especially the day of the Quidditch match when the dementor's had swarmed upon him…

Snape continued. "Then, the infamous Tri-Wizard Tournament. You have to be a complete imbecile to believe Dumbledore never noticed Crouch Jr. nipping on Polyjuice Potion twenty times a day. I noticed it the first week just by the smell on his breath. I was, of course, under orders not to mention it. From _both_ parties. The Headmaster let the charade play out to the bitter end. Quite as expected, Voldemort used your blood to return. Dumbledore wants him to be mortal, you see. It's far too difficult to kill him when he's flitting about in a ghostlike state possessing people. At least now he's confined to a single body."

Harry wanted to protest, but his mouth was to dry to even swallow.

"Diggory's death was unexpected, of course. So was Fudge turning the dementor on Crouch Jr., not that he would have given up anything useful, anyway. This year, in case you've been finding things far too peaceful, Potter, I'm going to let you in on a few things. First, those pesky dreams you've been having about a long hallway and a locked door…" He waited expectantly and Harry started in surprise. He hadn't mentioned his strange dreams at all.

"Voldemort is trying to get you to rush to the Department of Mysteries in order to retrieve a moldy old prophecy. Why he's focusing on _that_ instead of organizing an army to take over the Ministry of Magic is a question he refuses to answer and I have stopped asking, since I'm just a humble peon of the demented Dark Lord. Eventually he will kidnap one of your friends or do something horrible to lure you there, where he plans to take the prophecy out of your cold, dead hand. I suggest you get yourself there and smash the thing posthaste in order to be done with the ordeal. Dumbledore won't tell you any of this because he wants you to, once again, confront Voldemort. You've been lucky so far. Perhaps you'll actually kill him this time. I'm certain you've noticed Dumbledore leaping around corners and scrambling down stairs to avoid you this year."

"That's a lie," Harry whispered, but his words sounded weak even to himself. In truth, he had noticed Dumbledore's bizarre absence in his life. In the few times he had managed to speak to the Headmaster, Dumbledore had gazed off into the distance as if Harry wasn't even present. It had been damned annoying.

"Meanwhile, the Order of the Phoenix sits around reading the paper, drinking tea, and chasing dust bunnies at Twelve… er… that place I can't mention. I've told Dumbledore to wait until the full moon and then set Lupin and Sirius on the trail of Voldemort. They're _animals_, they can track him. We know he was in the Riddle cemetery. Bloody hell, Lupin could rip Voldemort's throat out and at least he'd have to start over again. He only has so many Horcruxes, after all."

Snape sneered and dragged a hand through his shiny, bouncy locks.

"As usual, no one listens to _me_. Therefore, I've had it. I'm quitting the service of both Moldemort and Bumblebore. Let them kill each other. I've joined The Weird Sisters and plan to go on tour with them immediately."

Harry and Draco wore the same expression.

"I'm not joking. It's always been my dream to play the chimes in a rock band. No more subterfuge and plots for Severus Snape. I plan to be a star! Draco, you're here because Pansy Parkinson is coming with me. She's my new manager. Also, you might want to know; your father thinks Voldemort is a foul git and he's been plotting to kill the bastard. It's bloody hard to hold a business meeting with the Dark Mark glowing on your arm. Lucius has lost several lucrative deals by donning the mask and flitting off to do Voldemort's bidding. He is getting fed up. He'll most likely be destroyed for his efforts, but I thought you should know. By the way, your mother is quite a dish and your father ought to pay more attention to her before he's killed. I hope she won't miss me too much, but she can come see me in concert."

Harry glanced over to see Draco's face twice as pale as usual.

Snape pulled on a glittering white cloak.

"Well, that's all I can think of for now. Potter, enjoy vanquishing the Dark Lord. Malfoy, kiss your mother for me."

Snape strode to the door and then paused to look back at the stunned boys.

"Oh yes. One more thing. Minerva McGonagall is also coming with me. I needed a roadie and she volunteered. Old Dumbledore will have to scramble to replace two Heads of House."

He chuckled, slammed the door and was gone. Harry and Draco sat without speaking for a long time.

"What's a Horcrux?" Harry finally asked.

Draco turned pained silver eyes on him.

"Go ask Granger," he said in a voice devoid of malice.

Harry got unsteadily to his feet and went out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine – The Ministry of Magic**

Harry was pale as a ghost when he returned to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione and Ron were alone, as Ron had driven off Hermione's new admirers in a fit of rage.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked after taking one look at Harry's face.

"What's a Horcrux?" Harry countered.

Hermione was puzzled. "I've never heard of it."

"Neither has Malfoy. I have to go to the Ministry of Magic."

He related his conversation with Snape.

"But, if Voldemort wants you to go get the Prophecy…"

"He wants me to go on _his_ schedule, not mine. It's possible I'll have to deal with Death Eaters guarding it, so I'll have to be prepared for anything."

"Well, we're coming with you," Ron said and Hermione nodded.

Harry nodded and sighed. "We'll leave right after dinner. I want to get there after the Ministry closes so we don't have to answer any questions. Hermione, see if you can find anything on Horcruxes in the meantime."

"How do you plan to get there?" she asked.

"Fly."

She blanched. "On… on brooms?"

"We have a shortage of hippogriffs at the moment," Ron pointed out.

Hermione shuddered. "Brooms sound better, actually."

Hermione spent a fruitless afternoon in the library searching for any reference to Horcruxes. Even Irma Pince, the librarian, looked at her blankly when she gave up and asked directly.

She met Harry and Ron at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Draco Malfoy was waiting for them, broom in hand.

"Decided to try for it, eh?" he said. "I'm coming with you."

Harry and Ron immediately protested, but Hermione asked, "Why?"

"I have my reasons."

"Plan to snatch it for your Death Eater friends, most likely," Ron spat.

Draco ignored him.

"Nice hair, Granger. You suck at flying."

Hermione blushed. "I know."

"You can ride with me."

"Oh, right! So you can throw her off over the lake or some sharp rocks?" Ron yelled.

Draco snorted.

"Where have you been, Weasley? Granger and I are very close, now." He stepped over to Hermione and threw an arm over her shoulder. "Very close. Didn't you tell them, honey?"

He nibbled her ear and Hermione blushed while Harry and Ron gaped at them in disbelief.

"I'll ride with Draco," she said lamely.

"He's not coming."

"I'll keep an eye on him," she promised.

"I'm sure you will," Draco purred.

Thankfully, Harry decided not to argue; he merely hopped on his broom angrily and soared over the parapet. Ron glared and followed.

Draco stepped over his broom and Hermione tentatively stood behind him.

"I really hate this," she said.

"Hold on tight."

The broom rose, lifting her off her feet and she flung her arms around Draco's waist. She pressed her cheek into his back and closed her eyes tightly as the wind whistled through her hair.

They flew for what seemed forever. Hermione's hands were nigh frozen, but the rest of her was warm from Draco's body. She didn't open their eyes until they began to descend.

They stopped in an alley and Ron led the way to the Ministry of Magic's visitor entrance—and ugly red telephone booth.

"We have to go inside," Ron explained. "Fred and George came this way once and told me how it works."

Harry and Ron entered the booth, followed by Hermione. She looked expectantly at Draco.

He sighed and forced himself inside, making sure he wrapped himself around Hermione in the process. His hands managed to slide into places where they ought not and Hermione felt herself blushing profusely in the close quarters. Malfoy also trod on Ron's foot, most likely on purpose. She felt he was having a bit more fun than the situation warranted.

Ron dialed a code and a voice said, "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and… Draco Malfoy. We're here to obtain a Prophecy." Four badges popped out of the machine. Hermione looked at her badge. It read: Hermione Granger. Prophecy Retrieval.

"Thank you. Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes."

The floor of the elevator began to descend and the voice continued, "Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wands at the Security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

The elevator halted and the door opened.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening."

They entered the Atrium, which was deserted, and walked quietly to the Security booth. As they approached, Hermione saw that the security guard was sleeping soundly.

"Should I wake him?" Harry asked and propped his broom against the counter.

"Great idea, Potter. Let's waste as much time as possible and alert as many people as we can. Give the Dark Lord plenty of time to send along his followers."

Harry glared at Draco, but bypassed the Security booth to enter an empty elevator. He looked at the buttons in puzzlement.

"Which floor?"

Draco reached past him and pressed the nine button.

"Department of Mysteries," he said dryly. "Some raid. You don't even know where you're going."

"It's not a raid," Harry protested. The elevator opened and he called out excitedly that it was exactly like his dream. Draco yawned. Hermione rubbed a temple that had started aching.

They entered a dark circular room that began to rotate as soon as they shut the door behind them.

Harry swore.

"It will be nearly impossible to find our way out of here in a hurry," Hermione said glumly.

"I'll know the right corridor when I see it," Harry explained. "We'll just have to try some doors."

"What kind of stupid place is this?" Draco snarled. "What's the bloody point of having a room with randomly moving unmarked doors? How do people work here? The inefficiency alone is mind-boggling. I've got to speak to my father about the utter lack of logic—"

"Just open a door, Malfoy," Harry said.

The first room was full of brains floating in a tank of glittering green liquid.

"I vote we leave Weasley here to pick out a new brain. Choose wisely, Weasel, even though you haven't much to work with. Maybe with your _new_ brain…"

Hermione stopped Ron from hexing Draco and after a hissed shouting match, they returned to the dark room and Hermione marked the one they'd opened. The next door revealed an amphitheatre-like space with a stone archway in the center. A ragged black cloth veiled the doorway and moved slightly as though with a breeze. It was very cold.

"What is this place?" Harry asked in a stage whisper.

"Are we sightseeing now?"

Harry slammed the door.

"Someone remind me why Malfoy is here."

The third door refused to open by any means, but the fourth brought a gasp from Harry.

"This is it!"

The room was full of clocks of all types and sizes. A freakish bell jar in the corner contained a seemingly endless floating chicken-or-the-egg cycle.

"Anyone want a Time-Turner?" Draco asked, examining a glassed-in shelf.

"NO!" Harry and Hermione said emphatically.

Finally, they entered a huge, high-ceilinged room with hundred of shelves that held small, dusty glass balls.

"Row ninety-seven," Harry said and marched down the rows with determination.

"He might want to pretend someone is here that wants to kill him," Draco commented mildly. Hermione dashed after Harry, wand out and wary of danger.

They located the correct row and shelf without interruption and Harry stared at the dusty globe for a long moment. He reached up and lifted it down.

"_Accio Prophecy_," said Draco. The globe flew out of Harry's hand and into Draco's. Without a pause, Draco smashed it hard against a wooden shelf.

_"…power to vanquish… seventh month dies… other survives…_" The broken words moaned out of the globe and were gone.

"WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?" Harry screamed.

"Because I knew you wouldn't." Draco grabbed Hermione's hand. "Let's get out of here!"

They raced for the exit just as masked Death Eaters began to materialize behind them. They made it to the clock room with jets of spell-light blasting by them. Hermione slammed the door and sealed it while the others continued to the rotating room. Luckily, the sigils still burned on the doors they had marked. Hermione made another on the door that shut behind her and they waited as it spun.

"Everyone open a different door," Draco ordered.

"Here!" Hermione yelled, recognizing the corridor revealed by her door just as a nearby door blasted off its hinges.

They ran into the elevator and waited breathlessly as it slowly rose.

"I can't believe you smashed my Prophecy," Harry huffed around breaths. "You're such a bastard."

"I know. But, you'll thank me, later," Draco said calmly.

When they exited into the Atrium, Hermione sealed the elevator doors after pressing every single button. It wouldn't slow the Death Eaters for long.

They grabbed their brooms and ran for the exit, but the security guard was now awake.

"Hey!" he yelled. "What you doing 'ere?"

They halted in their tracks, not because of the guard, but because Voldemort had suddenly appeared, blocking the exit.

"Going somewhere, Potter?" he hissed. Harry and the others backed away slowly. "Give me the Prophecy."

"I can't. Malfoy smashed it."

Voldemort's snakelike eyes fixed on Draco.

"Son of Lucius. Is it true?"

Draco nodded. "I was trying to get it for you, oh Reptilian One. I had it in my hand. Right here!"

"And?" Voldemort asked.

Draco shrugged. "I tripped. Tatty old carpets they have down there in the Department of Mysteries. You'd think with their ridiculous budget they could afford decent rugs. And would it kill them to dust once in awhile? It's appalling."

Voldemort wasn't the only one staring at Draco in befuddlement.

"Enough!" the Dark Lord yelled just as the elevator doors exploded outward to expel a hoard of Death Eaters. Draco sighed.

"You might want to teach them about _doors_. I don't think they quite understand the concept."

Before Voldemort's henchmen could surround the party, another group _Apparated_ into the room. Magical jets of light exploded everywhere as the Order of the Phoenix engaged the Death Eaters. Harry's party took refuge behind a fountain with a huge statue in the center.

"We should _Apparate_ out of here," Draco said to Hermione. She glared at him.

"I can't leave Harry and Ron!"

"It was just a suggestion."

"Why did you smash the Prophecy, anyway?" she asked as Draco flicked his wand. A chunk of marble that had been whistling toward them sailed off in another direction.

"What good comes of knowing the future?" Draco asked. "If the stupid prophecy said the Dark Lord wins, what would you do, Potter? Throw yourself off a cliff?"

"Of course not."

"Why not? If the future can't be changed, why fight it? Besides, most prophecies are ridiculously cryptic and only make sense when you look at them in hindsight. This way, neither you nor Voldemort know what the future brings, so you can gamely fight on without preconceptions."

"What do you care?" Harry asked and ducked as a burst of purple light flew over his head and singed the topmost bits of his black hair. "Why aren't you over there with your Death Eater friends?"

Draco snorted. "Honestly, can you see me covering this gorgeous face with a tacky old mask? I think not. And look what they did to my arm!" He yanked up a sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark tattooed on his forearm. "A little present from my father. He drugged me one night and I woke up with _this_. He thought I'd be pleased." Draco's grey eyes glittered with rage.

A face popped around the side of the statue with mask askew. Hermione yelled a spell and the man toppled backward out of the fountain. Draco went on.

"As if I'd actually be _happy_ with this ghastly tattoo! Even if I had planned to mar my perfect skin with something as permanently scarring as a tattoo, I sure as hell wouldn't have chosen a putrid skull vomiting up a snake. I would have preferred something smaller and more tasteful, like _Sex God _written in tiny runes on my left buttock…"

"You're betraying your father and Voldemort because of a tattoo?" Ron asked incredulously.

Draco glared. "This has caused me great emotional trauma. How am I supposed to go about shirtless and display my fabulous physique, now? It's a bloody tragedy."

Dumbledore chose that moment to finally appear.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten – The End**

Voldemort immediately blasted a lethal spell at Dumbledore, who deflected it easily.

"Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom," Dumbledore said with a lingering sigh. "Why do you insist on making war on everyone? Can't we all just get along?"

Voldemort fairly crackled with rage at the Headmaster's words. "I fricking hate it when you do that name repeating thing!" he shrieked. "And my name is _not_ Tom! It's Voldemort! _I am Lord Voldemort!_"

"Tom, Tom, Tom, if I go round calling myself Ragdolly Anna, people may call me that but it certainly doesn't make me a cloth toy, now does it?"

Voldemort didn't seem to be in the mood to navigate his way through Dumbledore's twisted logic. "_Avada_ _Kedavra!_" he yelled. Dumbledore produced a shield of light and the green beam ricocheted off and blasted a hole in the Atrium wall. The Dark Lord shuffled backward into a clump of Death Eaters, who blasted random curses at the Order members, who were leaping around doing the same. Miraculously, no one seemed to be injured.

Harry Potter suddenly stood up.

"Look at me!" he cried. "I'm a pretty pony!"

He jumped up onto the edge of the fountain and began to prance and toss his head while making whinnying noises. Jets of light narrowly missed him as he cavorted.

"_Tom!_" Dumbledore bellowed. "Leave Harry alone! He is not your plaything!"

"No, he's yours!" Voldemort countered.

Draco grimaced at Hermione. "That evokes some unpleasant images."

"We've got to stop this!" Hermione said.

"Why? Harry makes a pretty good pony. All he needs is a little saddle…"

Hermione jumped up from hiding and tackled Harry into the water. The shock seemed to snap him back to himself. He stared at her and coughed.

"What happened? I've got the strangest urge to eat some oats…"

"Voldemort possessed you!"

Curses were flying about with renewed frenzy. Harry and Hermione crawled out of the water and flopped next to Draco and Ron once more.

"This is crazy. We've got to get out of here."

Suddenly, they heard numerous loud pops and they peered over the edge of the fountain to behold a group of newcomers. They were bizarrely dressed in torn black robes. Most had long hair and they carried—not wands, but musical instruments. Even the Death Eaters halted to stare at them.

"Cor! It's the Weird Sisters!" Ron whispered.

Hermione recognized Snape immediately, even though he wore black leather pants and carried a small set of silver chimes. In his other hand, he held a large black bag.

"We got them all, Albus," Snape said. He tossed the bag to Dumbledore, who caught it with a grunt. They all watched curiously as Dumbledore upended the bag.

An odd assortment of items spilled out onto the marble floor: A small golden cup, a tacky-looking ring, a large locket, a limp snake, a chain belt, and a tiara. Voldemort goggled at them and then fairly jumped up and down in rage.

"My Horcruxes! How did you find them? Snape, you… you TRAITOR!"

"Calm down. While you were fixated on the stupid prophecy and stopping Potter, my new friends and I went to all the places Dumbledore had earmarked over the past decade. Pretty simple with nine of us on the trail, actually," Snape admitted. "The Weird Sisters aren't just good musicians. They're quite talented wizards, also."

The cello player scuffed a toe on the floor.

"Ah, Sev… you're too kind, mate."

"No, it's true," said the large bagpipe player, who looked like a Scottish clan chieftain.

Dumbledore flicked his wand and the objects returned to the black bag. He slung it over his shoulder like Father Christmas.

"Well, off to Mount Etna," he said and _Disapparated_.

"Etna?" Voldemort echoed dumbly.

"Italy? Live volcano?" Snape prodded. Voldemort howled like a crazed werewolf and a large scruffy-looking man near him howled with him, as if unable to stop himself.

"Knock it off, Fenrir," one of the Death Eaters snapped.

Voldemort disappeared with a pop.

The Death Eaters milled around uncomfortably.

"Whadda we do now?" Goyle asked.

"I, for one, am leaving," said Lucius Malfoy. "Draco, you're grounded."

The black-caped figure of Draco's father popped out of sight, followed by the other Death-Eaters.

Hermione looked sympathetically at Draco.

"You're in trouble, now."

Draco shrugged. "Actually, I don't think I've been un-grounded since I was six. There's always something. Mum will talk with him. She owes me for not mentioning the Snape incident, anyway."

Harry stood up and started to wring the water out of his cape.

"Is Dumbledore really going to Mt. Etna?"

Snape shook his head. "No, but when Voldemort shows up there, Hagrid, Madame Maxime, and Karkaroff are waiting to push him in. Dumbledore doesn't know about that part. He wants us to capture Voldemort and imprison him. Thinks he can be reformed or some such drivel. Dumbledore is tossing the Horcruxes into Mt. Kilauea. By the time he gets back, Voldemort should be a tidy pile of ash."

Harry seemed to be in shock.

"So… it's over then? I didn't have to fight him… I didn't have to do anything…"

"No, you've been pretty useless," Snape admitted.

Harry scowled.

"Well, I drew him here, didn't I?"

"At my suggestion," Snape said with a sneer.

"This is all quite fascinating," Draco said, "But, I need to get my beauty sleep and then find a quality tattoo-removal wizard. Granger, you coming?"

She wondered if Harry was going to be all right without the constant threat of death hanging over his head… Draco seemed to read her thoughts.

"Don't worry, the Death Eaters won't give up that easily. My Auntie Bella alone will be hunting Harry to get revenge—she's a bit unhinged. I'm sure it will take Potter a few years to round up the stray crazies. I don't think he'll get bored."

Hermione nodded happily.

"And I'll be there to help him."

"Really? I was hoping you'd settle down with me in a little cottage with a white picket fence, three tabby cats, a tomato garden, and window boxes full of marigolds. We can raise fourteen little Muggle-born babies. Pack them in like the Weasleys."

Hermione was nearly speechless.

"Are you serious?"

Draco snorted. "Hardly. Marigolds, the very idea. Belladonna, maybe."

"I like marigolds."

"You probably want a white picket fence, also."

"There is nothing wrong with white picket."

"Well, it won't keep the Bengal tigers in."

"What Bengal tigers?"

"The ones that keep out trespassers, of course. You haven't been to Malfoy Manor recently, have you?"

"I've never been to Malfoy Manor," she gritted.

"Well, we'll have to remedy that."

"Why? Do the tigers need feeding?"

They were still arguing as they entered the lift and left the Ministry of Magic behind.


End file.
